Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)(32)

I take his hand. “Baz, if you really don’t want me to be ashamed of what a complete and utter shambles I am, you can’t be ashamed of your thing either.

You already know I don’t care—I’ve known you were a vampire since we were fifteen!”

He lifts his chin. “Yeah, and you tried to fucking Van Helsing me, Snow!”

“I never properly tried…”

He frowns. “Have you ever made an effort with me?”

I tug on his hand. “The takeaway here is—I truly don’t care that you’re a vampire.”

“Well, I care. It’s humiliating.”

“Baz, I hate to say this, but…” I’m grinning at him, and I can hardly believe it. Like, I really expected to be miserable for days after breaking down so completely. But somehow I’m still here, and he’s still here, and even though I still feel like a hopeless case, this thing between us doesn’t feel hopeless at all.

Plus, as soon as Baz is unhappy, that’s all I can think about. I’m crazy about all his little fretful faces, and I also want to be the thing that chases them away. I think I might be willing to make him miserable just for the thrill of making it better. That’s fucked up, isn’t it?

I dip my head to find his eyes.

“I just want to be with you,” I say. “And this is where we are now. I’m a broken-down mess, and you’re a rat-drinking monster.”

We walk down an alleyway near Baz’s flat. We won’t have to go far, he says; London has rats everywhere, some of them the size of cats.

“Does it have to be rats?” I ask. “They’re so gross.”

Baz is pulling on a pair of tan leather gloves. “What else does the city provide for me? House pets? Pigeons?”

“You could breed mice. Clean ones, like in a laboratory.”

“Oh, that’s good, Snow. I’ll have a flat full of pink-eyed mice in glass enclosures. That won’t be creepy.” He leans over and snatches a rat by its tail, then brains it against a brick wall.

“Christ,” I say. “It’s already well creepy.”

Baz sneers at me. “You’re the one who wanted to come. I told you it was disgusting.”

I grin at him. “I’m happy you let me come. We could do this together. On the regular. I could help you hunt.”

“I don’t need your help.” He starts walking again.

“Aren’t you gonna drink that one?”

“I wait and drink them all at once. It’s neater.” He frowns at me. “You don’t get to watch me drink.”

“You already said that.” Back at the flat, when he agreed to this.

“I can hear you getting ideas.” Baz crouches, darting his hand into the gutter to grab another rat.

“Merlin, you’re good at this.” He catches another one while I’m saying it.

“Practice,” he says.

“Must have been nice in the country. Proper hunting. Deer.”

He kills the rats and moves on. “It did feel more wholesome.”

I trail after him. “Will you live in the country after uni?”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know why you haven’t given up on animals altogether.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the American vampires just drink people, don’t they?”

He scowls at me over his shoulder. “I’m not a murderer, Snow.”

“Lamb said you don’t have to murder people. You can just drink.”

“Well, I’m not a parasite either.” Baz stops, crouches. “Or a thief.”

“You wouldn’t have to steal it.”

“Good idea, I’ll find a blood bank and open an account.”

“Come on, don’t be thick—you know I’d give it to you.”

He stands up abruptly, facing me. “Don’t say that, Simon.”

I shrug. “But I would.” I would.

Baz looks fierce. “Don’t be idiotic! We don’t even know how it works—I might drink too much.”

“You wouldn’t.” He wouldn’t.

“I could accidentally Turn you.”

“We’ll do research,” I say. “I’ll get Penny on it.”

“Don’t you dare mention this to Bunce. Just stop, all right? I don’t even want to think about this.”

“You’d rather drink London rats than me?”

Baz’s eyes are wide. He’s shaking his head. “Fuck you, Snow.”

“Someday, perhaps. I’ve been told there’s hope.” I see something scurrying past me, and stomp on it. “Hey, look—I got one!”

BAZ

Simon Snow is grinning at me, holding out a live rat like a single-stemmed rose.

I stare at him.

He shakes the screeching rat. “Finish him off,” he says, “before he starts to grow on me.”

I take the rat and put it out of its misery.

Who will put me out of mine? I used to think it would be this fool.

“You’re not even wearing gloves,” I say, still dumbfounded.

“Just ‘Clean as a whistle’ me.”